


Praying to Angels

by emmystew



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angels, Catholic School, Dean Prays to Castiel, I swear, It'll get better, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Neglect, harsh punishments, subtle jokes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 09:38:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmystew/pseuds/emmystew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a brief stay in Chicago where Sam and Dean attended a Catholic School, Dean starts praying to the archangel Cassiel, never expecting to actually be heard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was… well, it was a bit stupid, really. It was also, well, it was also a complete accident that it even started happening. That the thought of praying to angels was even put into his head.

He could barely remember his mother telling him that the angels were watching over him. But he did remember her saying it to him. Perhaps arguing about it later with his father, is what he was really remembering.

The point is, he did remember, even if he knew better than to believe. He definitely knew better to talk about supernatural things with Sammy. Especially knew not to mention them, think about them even, around his father.

But…

It didn’t stop him. Especially not after he had enrolled in St Michael’s K through 8 while they were staying in a small town south of Chicago midway through the seventh grade. It was his only choice of school because he didn’t want to be in a separate school from Sammy, and had to enroll them both in the closest school to the motel as he could. So while Dad was away fighting monsters, Sam and Dean were at the church funded middle school two blocks from their motel.

Dean’s teacher, Sister Annabelle loved talking about the angels. She often encouraged her class to pray to the angels during morning prayer and before all meals in her classroom.

“So many pray to God,” she would tell her students, “so many prayers go unanswered, but pray to an angel and you’ll be heard.”

Maybe that’s not exactly what she said, Dean would reflect later in his life, but it was the general idea.

And then she set them with a research project, and assigned them all a different angel to present a report on. That might not have been true either. Perhaps the class was midway through their projects when Dean enrolled in the school and had been handed a left over angel to present on.

Dean was given Cassiel, the archangel of Thursdays. The angel of Temperance, who preferred to watch and not interfere in human affairs. The angel who presided over the deaths of Kings, which was fine with Dean. He had ample time to do the research after he picked up Sammy from down the hall and got some food into him. Dean even endured sitting through some other the other reports, learning about the other angels. Uriel, the angel of Salvation seems pretty cool, he thinks as Timmy Holand sits down after his report.

Winchester often meant that he was one of the last to present and this was no exception to that rule.

John had moved them on before his presentation, but the information on so many angels, including Cassiel, had already been gained.

And maybe, if an angel were truly watching over him, as he mother had said, maybe it was Cassiel. And, well, Cassiel didn’t interfere, and was content just watching. So it wouldn’t hurt to… well, not pray to him, per se. But, well, it got lonely, with only Sammy and his father on the road for days at a time. And Sammy didn’t know about the supernatural – couldn’t know – and Dad didn’t want to talk about it. Dean could think his thoughts and troubles to Cassiel and nobody would need to know.

Except Dean.

And Cassiel, if he even existed.

==

 _Cassiel is such a weird name,_ Dean thought, feeling ridiculous. He was sitting on the closed lid of a toilet in a tiny diner his dad had pulled off at. A truck stop diner. The kind that was always open, always empty, and never clean. Sam was sitting in a corner booth with a book he had already read at least a dozen times, waiting for Dean to come back from the bathroom so they could order something to eat while their dad tinkered in the engine of the impala. But Dean was delaying because this was the first time he was considering actually _not_ -praying to an angel that probably wasn’t even real in the first place.

He fidgeted for a moment feeling dumb, got annoyed with himself for delaying because Sam was waiting for him to come back, and closed his eyes.

 _Dear, uh, Cassiel._ He thought, because he refused to speak to an empty bathroom stall at a truckers diner. _We’ve been on the road for basically my whole life, and it hasn’t been that bad, really, for me. But, I know that Sammy doesn’t like it. Sammy wants to be normal, and, he’s just a little kid, and I want him to be happy, is all. I wish I knew how. But anytime I ask him he just gives me a bitch-face and doesn’t answer. Dad says that I’m not allowed to tell Sammy about where he goes off to when he leaves us at the motel, I think he’s trying to keep Sam innocent or something. Dad doesn’t want him to be scared of what’s out there. Sometimes I’m a little scared, even though I pretend that I’m not. I wish I wasn’t scared though. So, uh… thanks for listening. Hope you get to see some interesting stuff while you’re watching us. Uh… Sincerely, Dean Winchester._

And now he felt stupid. Really stupid.

Praying to angels. He was better hurrying back to Sam and getting something to eat.

The door to the bathroom banged open and, from the sounds of it, a very large man swung himself into the bathroom.

Dean unlocked the stall door and slipped around the man and out into the main part of the diner. Sam was waiting exactly where he had left him, staring at exactly the same page in his book with the same far away look in his eyes.

“Sometimes,” the younger boy said when Dean sat down, “sometimes I wish we were normal. And didn’t move around so much.”

“I know Sammy,” Dean said softly, scooting as close to his brother as he could without getting a sharp elbow to the ribs. “Me too.”

“Do you think,” Sam asked quietly, his fingers toying with his book. “Do you think we’ll ever settle into a home and stay there? That we’ll be able to finish a whole school year without changing schools?”

“I wish, Sammy,” Dean told him, taking the book from his hands and putting it aside.

“It would make me happy,” Sam told him. “If we could just, I don’t know, live with Uncle Bobby or something.”

Dean’s head, which had been bent over the stained truck stop menu, snapped up at Sam’s words. His mouth gaping open.

_Sammy wants to be normal, and, he’s just a little kid, and I want him to be happy, is all. I wish I knew how._

Had Cassiel heard him praying in a dirty bathroom stall? Had Cassiel, Archangel of Thursday, listened to _his_ prayer and answered it? Giving him the exact knowledge he was looking for to make Sammy happy again?

“Maybe we can, Sammy,” Dean said. “I’ll talk to dad.”

===


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: there is a John Winchester punishment at the end of this chapter. That is to say, there is a very extreme punishment for essentially a non-issue. There is also neglect to Dean's well being in order to protect Sam.

A few weeks later, in a cheap motel on a map dot in Montana, Dean lay shivering on a camp bed while his father curled around Sam in the big bed. He hadn’t found the courage inside himself to bring up Sam’s request about Bobby, just like he hadn’t found the courage to get out of the camp bed and curl up in the big bed where it would most definitely be warmer. But he would also, most definitely, be punished.

He shifted around a little bit, curling tighter into himself and tucking his blanket under his shoulder so that the draft would have a harder time finding him with its chill.

His thoughts turned again to Cassiel, and how the angel had seemingly answered his last prayer. He felt ridiculous for believing in angels, ridiculous for believing that an angel would answer _his_ prayer, when said angel was – if he existed, which he probably didn’t – renowned for not interfering.

Why would Dean, aged twelve and sitting in a dirty bathroom stall, be worthy of an answered prayer?

There was only one way to know for certain, really, Dean decided, as he shivered in his lonely camp bed.

He closed his eyes.

 _Dear Cassiel, it’s me again, Dean Winchester_ he thought, but then hesitated, not knowing what to say, or think. _It’s been a few weeks since the last time I prayed to you. I’m not even sure if you really answered my prayer with Sammy, or if it was just a coincidence, but if you did… thank you. I told Sammy that I’d talk to our dad about us staying at Bobby’s, but I haven’t yet. I’m scared he’ll get mad, or say no. I don’t – he scares me when he’s mad. I…_

Dean sighed, feeling sillier then before. He was essentially laying out his problems for a probably non-existent angel, and he wasn’t even asking for anything. He was babbling.

 _I wish I was warm,_ he thought, shivering again, and curling even tighter into himself. _I don’t like Montana, it’s so cold here._

Dean rolled over, wrapping his hands around his toes. They felt like ice cubes against his fingertips.

The heater in their tiny hotel room was broken. They had received a reduced rate on the room because of it. John had made sure the boys were bundled in sweats over their pajamas, secured Dean on the camp bed with the spare blankets management had given them, and then curled up around Sam in the big bed to make sure his youngest didn’t freeze during the night. It wasn’t like Dean minded, he wasn’t a little kid anymore, he didn’t need to sleep with his Dad, but – it was so cold.

The heater hissed suddenly, causing Dean to stiffen. Undeterred, the heater groaned and whirred to life, blowing hot air into the room, reducing the chill immediately. It took several long moments before Dean was willing to climb out of his camp bed and drag his blankets over to the heater, allowing its warmth to wash over him like a warm summer breeze.

 _Thank you_. Dean thought, releasing his white knuckled grip on the blanket and finally relaxing enough to sleep. _Thank you, Cassiel. I’ll talk to dad about Bobby’s in the morning. First thing._

===

First thing the next morning Dean woke up with a start. Sammy must have been in the bathroom because Dean couldn’t see his little brother in the main room. What he could see was John. His father was standing over him with a look of thunder on his face.

John grabbed Dean’s exposed wrist and hauled the boy to his feet. He didn’t say anything, didn’t utter a single sound, but the tight grip on Dean’s wrist, tight enough to bruise, was more than enough for Dean to understand. He’d broken a rule. He didn’t stay in bed, where it was safe. He was dragged back to the camp bed and shoved down on it, the blankets ripped away from him and Dean shivered in the sudden chill.

“You’ll stay right here until I release you.” John rumbled, his eyes dark with rage. “No speaking, no getting up. No television, no books, no games with Sammy. Do you understand?”

Dean nodded, hesitantly. He hadn’t used the bathroom yet; John was doubtlessly starting a new case today, something about mysterious disappearances in the next town up. His dad always knew if Dean obeyed.

“If I can’t trust you to stay put while I am in the room, how can I trust you to protect Sammy when I’m away?” John asked, the angry red of his face belying the calm in his voice. “How can I trust you, Dean, if you’re unwilling to obey even the simplest rules? I can’t. I’m disappointed in you, I thought you were better than this, but I guess I was wrong.”

Dean’s eyes prickled, but he refused to allow himself to cry.

“I’ll bring back dinner. You have five minutes after I leave to salt the doors and windows and make sure Sammy is situated for the day. I expect you on the bed when I come back.”

Dean nodded carefully. “Yessir,” he whispered.

It took John a few minutes to gather his things, all the while Dean sat dutifully on the camp bed, staring down at his lap. Sam came out of the bathroom while their father was lacing up his boots. John took a quick moment to ruffle Sam's hair, inform him of Dean's punishment, angle a stern glare at Dean - in reminder - and grab the key's to the impala, before stalking out the door.

It slammed shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having trouble writing this just because I hate the idea that Dean was most likely abused when he was a child. Perhaps not physically, but emotionally, which is what I am attempting to depict.


End file.
